The Powerful Gifts (Chapter 2, Part 2)

Author's Note: I have decided to call these people with powers Gifted. And you will see in this next part that someone says they are a Granted. I just wanted to say that a Granted is really the same thing as a Gifted, but much stronger. Also, Granteds are extremely rare. You can only be a Granted if you are chosen by the Gods. OR if your mother or father is a Granted, it can be passed down from generation to generation.

Augeon stared into the fire. He had always loved its warmth, its power, and the fear it caused. Oh how much he yearned to control it yet again, or at least brush his fingers through it. But he was all too aware of his companion Ezra, who was asleep just a few feet away. He could easily just open his eyes and see Augeon for what he was.

A Granted.

Augeon's eyes slowly moved to his hands, where he stared down at his palms. He imagined flames burning strongly within them, sending power and thrill coursing through his veins.

His arms began to shake with desire and he knew he had to stop or he might do something he would regret later.

So he jumped to his feet and turned away from the fire. He took a few calming breaths and now looked out in the moonless night. He clenched his hands into fists as he realized the longing was still there, and growing stronger.

Augeon glanced back at Ezra and told himself his companion was fast asleep, and wouldn't awaken until morning. Then he began to walk away from the campsite.

He walked until the fire was the only thing in sight, then crouched down beside a tree. He looked back and listened hard for any sign of life. When he was satisfied he was alone he put his hands together and slowly began to pull them apart. Light radiated between both hands, and soon a small fire levitated inches above ground.

Augeon smiled with pleasure and pulsed, the muscles in his arms tightening painfully. The fire expanded and he was soon standing, waving the fire around his body and bending it in the most beautiful way. He resisted the urge to laugh loudly as nothing but power filled his body. He wanted to burn something—set it on fire. And watch it crumble to the ground.

He halved the fire in his hands expertly and threw it down at the dry leaves that covered the ground along with the pine needles. The flames grew quickly at his feet and soon surrounded him. They inched nearer and he grinned expectantly at them. They were now licking his boots, threatening to set him ablaze. But it never did. It just danced around him, never harming him, just giving him its life, its power.

He let out an enormous breath, closing his eyes and letting his arms fall limply to his side. The fire instantly waned and vanished in a simple puff of black smoke.

*

Maven watched with arms laid across her chest as Fyron whirled around, a dagger flying from his hand and hitting a tree some fifteen feet away. It didn't hit any where near the center, but at least he had hit his target.

“Again,” Maven ordered sharply.

He responded with sending another dagger soaring through the air and hitting it just below his other one.

“Remember,” Maven said, “its all in the flick of your wrist. Your power comes from your arm, but your accuracy comes from your wrist. Make sure to take a deep breath and throw the dagger when you exhale.”

Fyron nodded and ran to retrieve the four daggers he had stolen from Rune's “secret” weapon stash. Then he quickly resumed throwing; his last one completely missing.

Maven shook her head. “Are you sure you want to practice dagger throwing? Maybe you'd do better fighting one on one with them.”

He turned to her, face red. “I just thew too early, I should have waited. I'll hit it in the middle next time!”

Maven narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. They're gaze was locked for maybe a second before he looked away, rubbing his hands together nervously and went to get the daggers from the tree.

When he returned he murmured, “We can try close up fighting.” He offered her two daggers.

She tried to keep a mocking look out of her smile, but she didn't try very hard. She took the daggers from his hand. “Try to hit me.”

Clutching the daggers tightly in his hands, Fyron lunged forward fearlessly, slashing both daggers outward.

Maven stepped to the side and grabbed the back of his shirt. She yanked him backwards into her and put the sharp side of her dagger to his throat. He gasped and struggled to break free, but Maven held him tight.

“Think before you strike!” she snarled, throwing him away from her.

He faced her, eyes blazing with determination. She noticed that he wouldn't meet her gaze again, he only looked at her weapons. Good. He would not be losing his tempter with her. He now seemed to be planning an attack.

“I hope you know an enemy won't sit here and wait for you to strike first,” she said after a good half a minute.

Right then he attacked, feinting and jabbing to the left with his right dagger while the other flew upward towards Maven's face.

Maven had easily caught the feint and had blocked his bottom attack. But she hadn't been expecting the one towards her face. She tried to dodge it, but his blade sliced her cheek.

They both froze. The fear was plain of Fyron's face.

Maven burst into furious movement, knocking his weapons out of his hands and kicking him to the ground.

“Maven! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I though you'd block!” he cried, backing away from her on his elbows.

But she just stared. She forced herself not to kill him. To kill him and show him that what he did was just an accident. Her hurt pride fueled her anger and rage. But she would not allow herself to attack him. Instead she threw her daggers to the ground and walked off, saying over her shoulder.

“I expect you back here tomorrow night when everyone is asleep.”